


never let me go

by JoyfullyyoursDav



Series: Never Let Me Go (Twins' Mom AU series) [10]
Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Child Abandonment, Dysfunctional Family, Family Reunions, Gen, Long Lost/Secret Relatives, Memories, Minor Kravitz/Taako (The Adventure Zone), Mother-Daughter Relationship, Mother-Son Relationship, Motherhood, Original Character(s), Post-Canon, Reunions, Twins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-27
Updated: 2018-04-27
Packaged: 2019-04-28 08:17:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14445144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoyfullyyoursDav/pseuds/JoyfullyyoursDav
Summary: Taako and Lup meet their mother, and Leema's journey to find them finally reaches its end.





	never let me go

**Author's Note:**

> OMG. Sorry this took me so long to finish. I honestly stressed about how to end this series. I came to love Leema so much. What started as a one-off piece about a neglectful, regretful woman turned into something bigger. I wanted to do her character justice, while still acknowledging that this is HARD for everyone involved and that this story isn't really over, because it can't be.
> 
> I hope you like it, and thank you all so much for the great responses this series has gotten.

In Taako’s memory, his mother has dark hair. She has lines on the sides of her mouth. She’s frowning, looking down at him with an air of goodbye. They’re standing in the kitchen where he learned to cook with his sister.

In his memory, he knows Aunt Dwyn is nearby. He can hear her moving in the next room, sounds that would normally fill his chest with warmth. But in this memory, everything is icy. He doesn’t remember knowing this would be the last time he ever saw Leema. But somewhere, deep down, he must have. Why else would this memory feel so cold?

Taako has never been somebody’s son. Even if this is technically untrue, it feels as true to him as anything else. Merle calls him “son” sometimes, a habit begun over a century ago. A light, affectionate name that, to anyone else, might not even be noticed. But for Taako, it pinched a little at first. Like boots that needed to be broken in. “Slick move, son.” “You’ll be alright, son.” “Son, slow down. You’ll get there.” Taako never called him on it, never asked him to stop. And eventually, he got used to it. The word stopped making him wince. Until, of course, he met Merle again ten years after forgetting him. He had to unlearn his physical reaction to the word all over again.

This is new. This is physical, genetic, kinetic, real. In some deep part of himself, Taako is connected by blood to a person he barely remembers. He wouldn’t think much of genetics if it weren’t for Lup. But their connection surpasses death, distance, memory. He found her without even remembering her; he sensed her without knowing her name. At least in part, their very magic stems from each other. His connection to Lup _means_ something.

Despite his feelings about it, his connection to Leema might mean something, too.

* * *

In Lup’s memory, her mother’s hands are warm and dry, but her face is fuzzy. Lost to time. Whenever she tries to remember it, Taako’s face eventually surfaces in her mind—nearly identical to hers, but off just slightly. And it’s disconcerting and inaccurate and has made her stop trying to remember.

In her memory, it’s Cycle Six. The IPRE crew is finally having a memorial service, honoring the people lost on their home planet. Six years passed before any of them acknowledged that maybe, just maybe, hope was lost. They might never go home. “It feels like we’re being trailed by a bunch of ghosts,” Magnus said one day, “and I’m tired.” So they decided to hold a funeral of sorts, on a planet that was made almost completely of glass. They gathered together on the deck of the Starblaster. They wrote down names on pieces of paper and set them aflame, letting the wind carry the ashes to the glass below.

She and Taako had written down a single name. Dwyn. A person they’d lost long before the Hunger came. Lup had briefly considered writing “Leema,” too. But imagining the look on her brother’s face stopped her. And in that moment, it troubled her more than ever that she couldn’t remember what her mother looked like.

Lup has never been somebody’s daughter. She’s never even thought about that word in relation to herself. By the time she could have been called a daughter, she hadn’t had a parent for many years. The word itself was irrelevant.

And now, suddenly, she’s a daughter. Somebody claimed that word for her, whispered it into existence and wrote it down. She’s not sure how she feels about this yet. So in this moment, she reaches for her brother’s hand, as they wait for their mother to arrive.

* * *

Kravitz offers Leema his arm before they step through the portal together. He smiles reassuringly, and Leema’s grateful. Her heart is beating in her ears, and if it weren’t for that, she would think she’s dreaming. When they step through the other side, they’re standing on the porch of a little blue house.

“Ready?” Kravitz asks.

Leema hesitates, but only for a moment before nodding. Kravitz nods back and opens the door to the house.

The twins are standing on the other side. Through Istus’ window, Leema had thought they looked like their father. But here, now, she’s blown away by how much they look like her. And in the long stretched-out moments before anyone moves or speaks, it hits Leema how similar they still are to the six-year-olds she left a hundred years ago. They’re holding hands, just as they were then. Lup’s eyes are watery, and Taako’s jaw is set and angry as he stands a little bit in front of her. The portal could have sent her back in time for all the echoes in this moment, and Leema can’t speak past the lump forming in her throat.

All she had hoped for on this journey was a door. A single door. And if it led to another, and another, and another, so be it—but really all she needed was the first one. Now, she stands in front of her children. Children frozen as babies in her mind, who are now flesh and blood and fire and stone. Twins who helped save the world, and each other in the process, with a resilience Leema knows was not inherited from her.

“Hi,” Lup says. “I’m Lup. This is Taako.”

“Hi,” Leema whispers.

“Let’s sit down,” Lup suggests.

As they do, Leema is struck with a thought. Ash is not always ash. The remnants of the life she burned have lived on, grown new shoots and stretched toward the sky. Now, in this singular moment, they stretch toward her. She remembers what Istus said, and it nestles in her chest, heavy with truth. Healing is the most we can hope for. That we heal and be healed.

Leema takes a deep breath. She looks into the eyes of her children, and commits to the healing.


End file.
